


spank bank material

by violentdarlings



Category: The Duff (2015)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: Wes's brain is a dirty place.





	spank bank material

The first time it happens, he thinks it’s a fluke.

Wes is sitting in the woods conversing earnestly with a shrub, when Bianca appears from around a tree. She’s carrying a toolbox and a Beyoncé album, and she’s barely wearing anything at all, just a thin slip of a thing, all satin and lace.

Wes pauses in his discussion with the shrub, partly because he’s never seen anything so flimsy and _freaking_ awesome on his butch little neighbour, and also because he can’t remember why he was trying to convince the tree of the benefits of European soccer in the first place. Bianca tosses her hair back over mind-bogglingly pale shoulders, and snips, “What the fuck are you looking at, dipshit?”

Some things never change.

She sits down beside him and tenderly pets the shrub. “What are you doing out here?” Wes asks, and Bianca, _Bianca flutters her eyelashes_ at him.

“Don’t you know?” she asks sweetly, and the general effect of it, the syrupy voice and the delicate eyelash flutter and the fucking hair flick, is enough to have Wes sweating in terror.

“Christ, Wes, don’t be such a fucking pussy,” Bianca says tartly, and that’s better, that’s normal, B giving him shit if he looks at her sideways in the halls. Fuck. He can see her _nipples_.

“Uh, B. you’re wearing something kind of… weird.” Bianca tuts.

“I know what I’m wearing!” she says dryly. “A visual representation of just how perverted your mind is. You want to see me in this shit and hey fucking presto, here I am.”

“I don’t want to see you naked!” Wes protests, fully aware that she is a construct of his imagination and that he is in fact arguing with himself, and also that he’s hard enough to hammer nails.

Bianca snorts.

“Yeah, right, Wes. Just wake up already and jerk off like a normal person.” She punches him in the arm.

 

Wes flails out of sleep, and he’s reaching for his dick before he even realises he’s awake. It doesn’t take long; three strokes and he’s coming, the memory of her seared into his eyelids, her pissed off face and full little breasts playing on repeat in his head. Fuck. He’s never been this turned on, and all of it caused by his tiny misanthropic neighbour, the one who’s crazy smart and into weird ancient horror flicks and who might possibly be hiding a rocking body underneath all that flannel.

Fuck.

 

Bianca is stomping out her front door as he’s leaving the next morning. “Hey, B,” Wes offers tentatively, more than half convinced that she can see right into his brain and pluck out his dirty thoughts about her through the power of her mind alone. “Looking good.”

Bianca shoves a hank of hair back from her face, clutches her coffee tighter, and mutters something about Aztec human sacrifice rituals, Bela Lugosi, and murdering him right in his stupid face. The combination of her little growly voice and her tiny shoulders in her oversized red and black flannel – not to mention the fact that she only comes up to his elbow – is ridiculously adorable.

Wes shoves the emotion away before it can take root in him. She’s not cute, goddamnit, and she’s certainly not spank bank material. She’s just B, his neighbour since forever.

It’s not sexy that they used to share a bath. It’s _not_.

Goddamnit.


End file.
